Unlucky
by LotRia
Summary: Between rising crime levels and one helluva cold, Dick's been having a tough week. Unbeknownst to him, it's about to get much worse. Deathstroke is watching in the wings and is ready for a final attempt to make Grayson his apprentice. Includes creepy stalking behavior, Hurt!Kidnapped!Nightwing and Protective!BatFamily. Will include additional tags as the story continues.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi everyone. I've been a DCU, BatFam, and, specifically, Grayson fanatic since age 9 (my God, thats been more than two decades… so old… lol). And in all that long time of collecting comics and watching the related movies and cartoons, I've never once attempted to write any fanfiction about my favorite story character of all time: Dick Grayson. So here is my first stab at it.

 **Typical tags** for my stories include: kidnapping, drugging, bondage, non-con (implied and descriptive), emotional manipulation and physical torture w/graphic violence.

I really am not sure which tags I'm hitting with the tale yet. I'd like to just get this first part posted and see how the audience responds. So if there is a specific tag you're into, be sure to comment/message me about it; and I will try to work it into upcoming chapters… as long as it makes sense with the story line of course.

This first chapter is somewhat short - just getting a feel for the interest out there. Also do not have a beta on this yet so let me know if you find any errors.

 **Reviews are love, please leave some. Xoxo.**

 **Chapter One**

Dick Grayson was having one of the worst weeks of his life. After being on patrol the weekend prior as both Officer Grayson and Nightwing, in the pouring rain, he had picked up a sore throat and slight fever. The illness had carried with him throughout the week and the impact it had on both his jobs had been steadily increasing. The few hours of sleep he'd been able to squeeze in throughout the week had not been enough to recoup from the illness he'd picked up - at best he was just postponing the full effects of the cold until he had a chance to deal with it. He trudged through the week by continually reminding himself that he had a full week of vacation from the Bludhaven Police Department coming up in just a few days. If he could just make it through Friday...

Oddly enough, the crime rate for the city seemed to be on a drastic up-rise this week which was all the more alarming since Bludhaven had one of the most escalated crime rates in the country on any regular day. Gang activity had almost tripled with no apparent cause and some of the deadlier masked villains had been making nightly appearances, one after another, as if conspiring against the exhausted hero. Dick had done some thorough investigation concerning both the gang issues and his masked adversaries, but could find no correlating reason behind the increased activity. His first thoughts had naturally gone to his current nemesis, Blockbuster, but Desmond had been out of the country on business - shady dealings in Russia - for the past couple weeks and the compound was quiet. Even his more common associates had chosen to take a sabbatical while their crime lord was away. With this being the case, Dick was at a loss to explain the increase of criminal activity.

* * *

Slade Wilson, also known as Deathstroke the Terminator, was a very patient man - especially when it came to obtaining items that he really wanted. His patience for this particular possession had been growing thin over the past few years and he was ready to assert ownership over his apprentice. He had claimed Robin, the original Boy Wonder, a decade prior and through a stroke of luck favoring the Bat, his Bird had managed to slip away.

Ever since Grayson's lucky escape, Deathstroke had been keeping a distant eye on his chosen protege, waiting for the perfect moment to reclaim the boy. During the years, Grayson's skills had increased and honed to each new type of violence he encountered — the peak being now... his time dealing with Bludhaven's degradation and the villain known as Blockbuster.

Although not a boy anymore, Slade believed he still had a little time left to force Grayson into his crusade as a willing participant; and his experience in Bludhaven would only strengthen the ease in which he could assimilate to the criminal society. Deathstroke's distant watch on Grayson had steadily grown closer as the boy reached adulthood and Slade knew that if he was to win Grayson's loyalty through persuasion alone, he would need to act quickly. Although this was Slade's preferred weapon for submission, his plans did extend further as he toyed with other ideas to force Dick into obedience — drugs and mind control being the most likely methods to employ.

In Slade's mind, failure was never an option — losing a battle now and then, although embarrassing, was tolerable; but he would always be victorious when the war ended.

* * *

By mid-week, the full effect of Grayson's exhaustion had become visibly evident. Slade watched the hero's progress intently and had noticed that in addition to the nightly injuries, he also seemed to be suppressing a cold. Slade had been initiating riots between gangs and correlating with the city's masked villains to push Nightwing into exhaustion — most of whom were more than willing to oblige, not just for the enticing payment Slade was offering, but also for the potential that the hero would be permanently removed from their affairs.

Slade's plan had progressed much quicker than he had planned and he knew that the boy would not be able to remain on his feet much longer. Per Dick Grayson's usual behavior, he would continue to push his limits, unable to ignore his desire to save everyone. It was this personality trait that Slade was counting on and the mercenary was prepared to take the boy this weekend — expecting little to no resistance from his apprentice based on his weakened state.

Batman was certainly a concern, but there was no way the overprotective mentor would be notified of Nightwing's disappearance until the boy was far out of reach. Dick Grayson was extremely stubborn when it came to admitting weakness or requesting assistance; and Slade knew this would prevent the boy from contacting his friends and family to inform them of his current situation. The mercenary had noted several episodes in the past when the young man would sooner black out from exhaustion than go crawling back to the Batman. And this week would be no different — moderately injured, sick, and pushed well beyond his physical limits Grayson would hardly put up a struggle when Slade struck.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Moving into chapter two, we have the pace picking up a bit. I am trying to decide which direction to take it from here. I have some ideas but if you'd like to throw your own into the mix please review or message me.

Chapter Two

It was early Saturday morning when Dick finally decided he should cut himself some slack. His body ached and the fever plaguing him had begun to cause some dizziness. Thankfully, the criminal activity had made a drastic decrease in the last 12 hours and the streets tonight were eerily quiet. Although suspicious, Dick decided that rather than dwell on the mystery, he would take it as a small turn in his favor and give his body the rest it was denied throughout the week. He quickly made his way back to the apartment to turn in for the night. Also counting his blessings that his week vacation had started this past afternoon when he clocked out around 4p.m.

Dick slid open the window of his third floor apartment around 1:30a.m. and stumbled in — a testament to how tired he truly was — stripping off his Nightwing costume. The outfit was dumped in a wrinkled heap on the floor next to the bed as Dick threw on a loose tank top in addition to his plaid boxers and buried himself in the warm covers of his bed, drifting to sleep within minutes.

* * *

Slade noticed that the hero had decided to turn in early and silently stalked after his prey — watching from a few rooftops over as Grayson slipped through the apartment window. The boy did not even bother to turn on the light; but the mercenary moved closer after a short time, peaking through the window to ensure that Grayson had in fact fallen asleep.

The smile beneath Deathstroke's mask was vicious and predatory. The capture would be quick and easy and Grayson would be his, willingly or not.

* * *

Dick, although oblivious to the world around him, was caught in a very fitful sleep — violently tossing and turning, limbs tangled within the sheets. The comforter had been shoved to the floor as his fever spiked, and the pain reliever he had taken before going out on patrol was not helping.

* * *

Slade had soundlessly slid in through the window and watched Dick's erratic movements as he moved closer to the bed. In the moonlight streaming through the window, Deathstroke could see the beads of sweat tracing down Grayson's tan skin and the trembles of his body as chills racked his muscles. The mercenary's earlier suspicions had been correct — there was more ailing his apprentice than the injuries Slade had indirectly inflicted.

Slade shrugged nonchalantly at Grayson's condition. The illness certainly wasn't anything that couldn't be cured and the additional weakness would only make the mercenary's task easier. He pulled a small glass bottle out from his belt and uncapped a sterilized needle. He measured out the recommended dosage and tapped the glass cylinder a few times to ensure no air bubbles were trapped in the tube.

* * *

Something was very wrong. Dick slowly stirred back into the conscious world and he was suddenly struck by how awful he really felt — he kept his eyes closed in a vain attempt to ward off the spinning sensation that gripped his head.

He was trying to drift back to sleep, but his instincts were screaming at him to get up and move. He tried to suppress the nagging, but in the end, he trusted his intuition. Dick blinked a few times, trying to bring reality back into focus.

* * *

Slade had noticed the change immediately — the steadier rise and fall of Grayson's chest, the sudden stillness of his body, and the movement beneath his eyelids. The boy was waking up. At this point, his limbs were well tangled and restrained by the bed sheets and Slade readily used this to his advantage by pinning a few corners beneath his knee at the edge of the bed, being very cautious not to shift the mattress enough to alert his prey. That was when the mercenary noticed the boy blink and caught a glimpse of the brilliant blue eyes as they attempted to focus on him.

In a flash of movement, Slade slammed a hand over Dick's jaw and mouth, pinning his head to the pillow and jammed the needle tip into the vein on his neck. Luckily for Slade, Dick's contorted position — lying on his stomach with his upper body twisted to the side — and the restraint of the sheets gave him ample time to inject the drug before Grayson was able to react.

* * *

As Dick's world came into focus, he realized that someone was in fact standing over him at the side of the bed. His initial thought was that Batman had slipped in to check up on him, but that notion was lost when he made out the split orange and blue mask. His head was violently jerked to the side. This was immediately followed by a sharp tingling prick and a burning sensation that crawled into his vein. Due to the placement of his adversary's hand, he was unable to call out and could only manage a muffled grunt of discomfort as the needle penetrated the skin of his neck.

As more senses returned to him, Dick found the muscle strength needed to struggle out from under the mercenary. He worked quickly to free himself from the entrapping sheets.

Slade knew the drug would take a few minutes to subdue his prey, but was not prepared for this much resistance and cursed when Grayson's elbow connected with his sternum. A moment later, Dick had one of his legs free and planted the ball of his foot squarely in Deathstroke's chest. The mercenary staggered back a step, shocked by the strength and energy the boy was displaying. Slade realized that this would need to end quickly.

Since most of Grayson's body was still trussed up in the bed sheets, Slade gripped the corners he had been pinning and heaved the bundle off the bed. Using the centripetal force of his momentum combined with the mercenary's inhuman strength, Slade flung the bundle into the desk on the other edge of the room.

There were multiple ear-splitting shatters as dual monitors and computer equipment crashed onto and around Grayson's aching body. A rain of glass, fiber optics, and metal pieces sliced and clawed at Dicks skin, leaving red traces on face, arms, and legs. In addition to his injuries and fever, Dick could feel a sluggish warmth spreading from his chest as the drug began to overpower his system. He weakly struggled to push himself off the floor, but his arms were no longer cooperating and the numbness that overcame his muscles caused his chest to drop back to the floor.

Deathstroke knew that any light sleepers or night owls could have easily heard the ruckus on the third floor and his tolerance level for Grayson's defiance was gone. He strode over to his prey and noticed the stillness — the drug was finally going into effect. There was minimal struggling and Slade knew that the first symptom of the drug was to numb the muscles and paralyze the victim. Slade watched the flutter of Grayson's dark eye lashes as he attempted to hold on to consciousness and regain control of his body.

Deathstroke knelt next to the kid's chest and gently ran a few fingers through the ebony hair. His hand continued down to the boy's neck and located a slow but steady pulse.

"You know, this would be easier on both of us if you just passed out." Slade's voice rumbled eerily in the silence of the dark room, and Dick felt a chill move through his spine that had nothing to do with his fever.

"Go to Hell." Dick responded in barely a whisper as he attempted to resist the sedative coursing through his veins.

Slade chuckled at the defiant remark and shifted Dick from his side to his stomach. The mercenary crossed the boy's wrists at the small of his back and secured them with a thick leather strap. He then slide another strap around Grayson's upper arms and pulled it tight just above the elbows. Slade maliciously chose to leave the sheet tangled around his limbs and pinned it under the straps to increase the effectiveness of the bindings. Deathstroke then moved down to Dick's legs and fastened more straps at mid-thigh, just below the knees, and around the ankles.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Hey Dick, is everything alright in there?" John Law's voice filled the room from behind the apartment door. The downstairs neighbor had always been more adapted to late nights — especially after his run as a superhero known as Tarantula — and had heard the commotion in the apartment above.

Slade cursed under his breath.

Dick, although worried for John's safety, also recognized this as his last chance to escape his current predicament and began trying to find his voice.

"John… _cough_ …J-John. Get… get help." It wasn't loud enough to be heard by anyone more than a few feet away, but Slade wasn't taking any chances — he had Grayson right where he wanted him and nothing was going to ruin his plans.

Deathstroke pulled a roll of tape from a pocket on his belt and swiftly wrapped the horrid, sticky material around Grayson's mouth, thoroughly silencing the boy. To Dick's dismay, he couldn't even move his jaw enough to mumble behind the gag.

 _Mmmph._

 _Knock. Knock._

"Dick?" John waited for an answer. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong with his neighbor. He knew the rookie cop had been sick lately, but the magnitude of the noise he had heard had his "spider sense" tingling.

Slade realized the man was not going away without an answer and he felt that killing the neighbor would ultimately attract to much attention from the other tenants and get Batman involved much sooner than Slade had anticipated. So the mercenary coughed and adjusted his voice to mimic Dick as best as he could.

"Everything is fine. Haven't been feeling well and knocked a few things over when I got up to use the bathroom."

There was a pause from the man outside the room.

Slade cursed again and pulled out his weapon with the silencer.

Dick shook his head as frantically as the drugs in his system would allow.

John stood on the other side of the door and took a moment to consider the situation. The voice had been deeper than Grayson's and the former hero still could not shake the suspicious feeling in his gut. He forced himself to think rationally rather than relying on his instinct. Grayson most likely just woke up and had been noticeably ill all week. That combination alone was enough to alter someone's voice and those same ailments would very likely cause some form of disorientation, so it was logical that the young man had bumped into a few things.

The retired hero would push his misgivings aside for the night and check up on the kid first thing tomorrow.

"Okay, Dick. Just wanted to be sure you were alright. Talk to you later." John spoke loudly through the wooden door. He stood there a moment and listened, but did not hear anything else that might indicate danger and then proceeded back to his second floor apartment.

Slade had moved to stand directly behind the door and listened as the footsteps grew distant. A door opened and closed, and silence returned to the dimly lit stairwell.

Dick had also heard the foot falls descend and although he was terrified for his current situation, he was also relieved that no harm would befall his neighbor and friend. He glared at Slade when the mercenary turned back to him.

Beneath his mask, Slade arched an eyebrow in amusement. He couldn't believe Grayson was still conscious and thinking clearly enough to be furious. Oh, well. The mercenary made a mental note that the sedative dosage would need to be increased if he ever had to administer it again.

Slade crossed the room, coming back to Grayson's side and snaked his arm around the boy's waist. He then proceeded to heft the boy over his right shoulder.

Dick grunted at the discomfort and felt nauseous from being shifted around so much. It was difficult to tell if the dizziness was from his fever or a side effect of the drug Slade had forced into him. Either way, the hero felt as though he was beginning to black out. His breath grew shorter and he was struggling to take in enough air through just his nose. He really wished the gag could be removed so he could draw in a deep breath.

The mercenary slipped out through the window and leapt over the loose stair rail to the ground below. The sudden jolt of movement caused a sensation of vertigo in Dick's head and allowed the sedative to finally overcome his consciousness. Slade felt Grayson's weight shift and press heavily against his shoulder. He smirked and vanished into the shadows behind the apartment building.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks for the previous reviews! They're really making my mind spin about where I want to take this story. Here's the next chapter. I've got no beta on this right now so please message me with any mistakes you find so I can correct them right away. **Also please leave a review - I love feedback and it helps keep me focused.** And as always I love reader input so if there is a direction you want to go, let me know so I can see if it will work with what I've got planned. Thanks! *HUGS*

 **Chapter 3**

Dick awoke slowly from what he thought was the worst nightmare to plague him in years. His mind was extremely sluggish and there was a ping of discomfort edging its way from his left shoulder up his arm. He deduced the pain to be from an injury sustained earlier this week which had flared up from the awkward position he slept in — the limb stretched up over his head.

He felt a weird sense of spatial orientation, as though he was upright rather than horizontal — perhaps some disorientation from the fever — and noted that both arms, instead of resting on his pillow, were stretched above his head.

Dick opened his eyes, still foggy from sleep, to a black room. Even if the lights were off, he still should have been able to see something. He blinked a few more times and became alarmed as his lashes brushed against some kind of fabric. His body jerked from the panic of being blindfolded, and he heard the clink of chains from above and below. The events of the night before flooded back in a blur, but one name stood out clearly: Slade.

Dick fell still and held his breath, listening. He was not the only one who noticed the metal rattling and heavy footfalls approached the room. Dick cautiously pulled on each limb, quickly checking the effectiveness of the restraints — he wasn't going anywhere.

"Good evening, Robin." Slade announced his presence in a satisfied voice.

Dick wanted to counter the statement — to remind his adversary that he was no longer Robin and not a child for Slade to claim anymore — but the gag was still tightly in place, and Dick became painfully aware of how dry his throat was.

"Mmph."

"As much as I love your defiant comebacks, I'm not in the mood for it now." Slade commented sternly.

Dick could feel the mercenary's hands check each binding to be sure they were all secure — the wrists, the elbows, and the one around his upper biceps that pulled his shoulders back in a taut, uncomfortable position and forced his head to lean forward.

At this point, the mercenary chose to remove the blindfold and the slip of cloth dropped to the ground. Dick blinked and squinted his eyes against the sudden assault of light from the lamp pointed at him. Even having just woken up, Dick knew he felt more fatigued and dizzy than he should and realized that Slade must have drugged him with a pretty potent sedative.

Unknown to the young hero, Slade had administered an additional shot of the sedative only a few minutes prior to his awakening and rather than wearing off, the effects were just beginning to take hold. This particular drug attacked the muscular system and had little effect over the cognitive process, keeping the victim fully aware with all senses but unable to move — locked in an induced form of paralysis.

Slade had been pleased to find his captive awake and was looking forward to completing his obligations so the real fun could begin.

Despite having drugged the boy, Slade had used an excessive amount of restraints. These were mostly for show to reinforce his clients' feeling of confidence in the assassin's ability to control a situation, but a part of Slade also fully acknowledged Grayson's annoying habit to overcome impossible odds. He would take no chances this time.

As Slade removed the blindfold, he looked into Grayson's eyes to assess how succumbed the boy was to the sedative — slightly dialated and glossy. Satisfied, Slade bent down to check the straps binding the hero's legs around mid-thigh, just below the knees, and at the angles. Even if the thick leather was to snap, Slade had also attached manacles above the ankles and wrists which held the boy suspended by chains in the center of the room. The cruel restraints allowed no slack and he knew Grayson's muscles had to be burning from the strain — that is if the boy could even feel them at this point.

"I'm actually glad you're awake for this, kid. I really didn't want to put off the completion of this contract for another night, and it's more believable if you're conscious." Slade stated and strode over to an aged workbench on the far side of the room.

 _Contract?_ Dick arched an eyebrow. He found himself hopeful that this was just a ransom situation — meaning a larger window of opportunity for escape or rescue. If it was a bounty, he would have already been dead, and if it was personal, Slade would have gone underground to avoid any possible contact with the superhero community.

Still, he watched Slade's actions warily.

When the mercenary turned around, there was a digital camera in his hand and Dick furrowed his brows at what would soon follow.

Slade took in the visual queue for the boy's confusion and he chuckled beneath the orange and blue mask.

"Organizing the events of the past week hasn't been easy… or cheap. This whole endeavor began with a contract on, believe it or not, Dick Grayson. A business competitor of Wayne's has quite the distaste for his lack of cooperation — something concerning a company merger of specialized departments — and you get to be the pawn that ensures the success of his deal. The payment for you will be surprisingly hefty; and I knew there would be few assassins who could successfully complete the contract. I also anticipate a number of other wonderful benefits for myself to arise from this scenario… such as us completing another round for your apprenticeship."

Dick dropped his chin to his chest — so this would be personal.

"And just think… big Daddy Bat will be so focused on you false captors, he won't even think to look for me. Now, for the completion of the initial contract, all I need is photographic evidence for the clients to send to Wayne. So kiddo… smile big for daddy."

Slade lifted the camera and each shutter click served to further infuriate Dick. All he could do was hang there, too drugged to even struggle, with his unspoken questions while the mercenary took shots of all angles. He even got a close up of the glossy blue eyes just to send a personal message to Wayne — he had lost his son, permanently.

Hoping that Slade's monologue meant he was feeling conversational, Dick attempted to speak through the gag.

"Mmmph, mph ummm."

"Gag stays on until we're done with the photographic portion, perhaps longer depending on my tolerance for your irritating quips. Besides I pride myself on the quality of my work, so the scene needs to look authentic."

Dick swore but the sound was only an audible grunt. He really didn't believe it was possible to feel more vulnerable, but each click from the camera only served to worsen his embarrassment. Still clad only in his boxers and a thin tank top and knowing the evidence was to be used against his family, it was maddening. He couldn't be sure if it was the cold of the damp stone room or the drugs invading his blood stream, but Dick was shivering more intensely as each minute passed.

Eventually, the camera sounds stopped and Slade returned the wicked device to its proper place on the workbench. Dick caught a glimpse of the camera card between the mercenary's fingers as he exited the room.

 _Dammit._ Dick took his time surveying the room, hoping he might find something that would help him escape his predicament. He squinted toward the floodlight that was set in his direction and caught a glimpse of the video camera positioned next to it — clearly, this particular torment was not over yet. A little further past the light, leaning against the wall, was a full body mirror and for the first time, Dick could see how awful he looked.

His injuries over the past week were evident from the gray shaded areas on his arms and legs. He could also see each new injury from his capture and transport to this current location, including the cuts from his computer monitor's glass shards.

Slade stepped back into the room, an armful of black cloth in his hand, and observed Grayson peering into the mirror.

"Hot, isn't it? Imagine how many more marks you'll have by tomorrow." The mercenary teased mercilessly, and Dick pulled his brows together in a threatening scowl, quickly turning his eyes away from the reflection.

"Don't feel guilty about looking kid," Slade commented as he dropped the material to the floor and clamped his large hand under Dick's chin, forcefully bringing the hazy blue orbs to look at his own. "That mirror is there to show your complete lack of control and utter helplessness — to aid in breaking your spirit, so I can rebuild you into much stronger force."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : Thank you so much for all the reviews! Hoping this next part doesn't disappoint. I'm coming at Dick's disappearance from multiple angles - mostly to cover Slade's ass and give Batman more of a headache. Anyhow, let me know what you think! I love feedback and suggestions.

 **Chapter Four**

Slade released Grayson's jaw and turned back to the pile of cloth he had unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Dick glanced down and noticed a flash of blue amongst the black — it was his Nightwing uniform.

The mercenary placed the small black mask over the bridge of Dick's nose and the adhesive from the night before was still strong enough to hold it securely in place. The top of his uniform was tossed aside as Slade knelt down to undo the restraints trapping the kid's legs. Once the manacles were removed, Dick's body swung and twirled slightly in the air. Dick urged his muscles to bend so he could strike out at the mercenary, but found that his limbs were completely unresponsive. He was confused by this since he could still feel Slade's hands on his skin.

As if answering his thoughts, Wilson stated, "can't lash out can you?" He took a quick glance at his watch and continued, "by now I doubt you could even twitch a finger. Since this next part could take a bit longer, it wouldn't hurt to give you another dose, just to be safe."

He strode back to the bench and took a syringe from the top shelf. He made his way back to Grayson and plunged the need into the vein of his tightly bound arm.

Dick's head swam for a moment and he didn't really think it was possible, but he felt weaker than before.

As the drug invaded Grayson's body, Slade took the pants of the Nightwing suit and began working them up his captive's legs. Having the mercenary this close had Dick feeling even more on edge and borderline violated, especially when Slade adjusted the waistband.

"So," Slade started while ripping the tank top off from behind Dick, "my touch bothers you does it?" Once the article of clothing was gone and to further prove his new insight - and amuse himself -, Slade slowly ran his gloved fingers down Grayson's back, taking a moment to feel out each muscle. When this motion started, Dick made an attempt to squirm away but had no luck with two doses of sedative holding him hostage. He just dangled, enduring this new form of torture.

Slade leaned in, uncomfortably close, and Dick felt the mercenary's breath move the hairs against his ear as he whispered, "We will have to revisit this interesting reaction later."

Dick shuddered involuntary at the thought and closed his eyes to block out the entire situation. The reprieve was not to last long though as Slade made his next motive clear.

"Open your eyes boy, I want you alert for this. I need some extra insurance. No doubt, your disappearance will not go unnoticed, and I need some assurance or evidence to lead the hero community away from myself should they discover that it was I who completed the contract. There is a particular villain who is very interested in receiving credit for your death, so he can further torment your previous mentor."

Dick's mind was moving sluggishly from the second dose of the drug, but he was slowly piecing the plot together. His death could very possibly destroy Bruce, and if no one knew he was alive, there would be no one looking for him and no rescue. Slade would win; even if Dick never gave in to the apprenticeship, he would be trapped in this Hell until he actually did die.

Another figure appeared in the doorway with a demented cackle. Dick knew who it was before the madman stepped into the room; Joker.

"Mmm mmph," Dick's eyes flashed wider in surprise with a brief hint of what Slade easily recognized as fear.

The mercenary replaced the straps and manacles around Nightwing's legs as the Joker circled the shadows like a wild predator preparing to strike.

Slade stepped back as soon as the hero's legs were re-secured and stated, "He's all yours for the time being, make it brutal." The mercenary stepped back behind the flood light and a small red dot suddenly appeared on the video camera.

Joker moved in with a sadistic madness in his eyes, and the first thing Nightwing saw in the light was the rust covered crowbar.

"Hello Bird-Boy, fancy meeting you here. Heheheh Ahahahaha. This is gonna be so much fun. I'm even making a family video for the cherished memories we'll have. I can't wait to share it with Batsy. Hahahaha."

Slade watched as the crazy clown started to swing the crow bar. Although most people would not even consider this scenario due to the villain's unpredictability, Slade did not feel threatened or out of control. He also felt confident that even if the Joker beat Grayson within an inch of his life, the wounds would not be anything the mercenary couldn't treat. Despite his conviction that the situation would not get out of hand, he couldn't help but cringe as the kid's blood splattered about the room. He almost felt bad about footage Bruce would be watching, almost.

* * *

 _Beep Beep … Beep Beep … Beep Beep_

The noise was annoying, but not her typical alarm sound to indicate danger — this was a sound to indicate a signal issue with one of her many computer connections. Barbara Gordon pulled herself out of her cozy warm bed to find out just what the Hell was wrong with her equipment.

She rolled into the kitchen to grab a mug of warm tea to help awaken the trouble-shooting, techy part of her mind before heading into Oracle's main room of operations.

Babs took in the familiar warm glow of her monitors before flipping on the main light. She unlocked the screen saver and entered the command to shut down the alarm. All her clock tower perimeters were secure and her network systems were running fine. Great — that meant the trigger had come from one of her Bat-Boys.

Babs immediately opened her programming for Dick's network; he was the most well-known for screwing up his equipment and this would be just another of several occurrences he sparked in the last year. It was most commonly a result of him throwing his Nightwing gear across the room as he rushed into bed. One item would always catch the receiver. And sure enough this was another one of those times.

"Dammit Grayson." Babs grumbled as she gripped the bridge of her nose. The red light flashing on the screen was just as irritating as the noise proceeding it. Now if only she could wake the Man-Wonder up — unlikely, knowing what he had been through this past week.

She considered just turning off the screen and going back to her awaiting covers, but she decided to at least try to get a response.

"Dick are you still up?" She said loudly, hoping his communicator was within hearing distance.

She sat a moment and received no reply, only silence — not entirely surprising.

Barbara let out a tired sigh and wheeled herself back to the bedroom and dreamland.


End file.
